Well —

[ well, yes, that's exactly what he means, actually — and yet he can't help but hasten to add, very sincerely, ] Hey, it's all right. It's not... all bad. You saw the festival, sometimes it's good, here. 'Sides, the infection didn't even hit me, yeah?

[ what he is leaving unsaid is the fact he felt far worse, having to bear witness to it happening to someone he cares for, feeling nothing but right useless the entire time; what he's leaving unsaid is that he'd died, anyway, with an iron sword right through him, wielded by someone he quite genuinely likes. the reassuring smile he aims at edwin hints at exactly none of this.

we need to leave, edwin says, and charles almost, almost starts to laugh. ]

Edwin, [ he says instead, steady and careful, ] You really think I'd have stayed here instead of going right back to where you were, if I could have left? [ no, of course not. that's unthinkable. ] There's people here who've been here for over a year. If there's a way to leave, well, they haven't found one yet.

[ he just hopes finding one won't take, you know, seventy years. ]